‘I would just as soon cut someone if they messed with me,’ says Lady Jae but protection for transgender women remains an uphill battle in prison culture

Jessica Pishko in California

Published on Tue 4 Aug 2015 08.30 EDT

In the visiting room at San Quentin state penitentiary, 25 miles north of San Francisco, Lady Jae Clark looks around the room. “You see,” she says, “everyone is looking at us.”

The large space is filled with inmates and their families. Everyone is talking, playing card games, and eating food from the vending machines. Because San Quentin is a men’s prison, the inmates are all men – except for Lady Jae, who has been in the prison system for more than 20 years.

Mid-discussion, Lady Jae speaks animatedly about “wanting to have boobs down to her knees, like an old southern lady” before adding she “just wants [them] to keep getting bigger and bigger”.

She is an imposing presence: brash, tall and indeed large-chested, which is obvious despite the unflattering chambray prison uniform (the same worn by all male prisoners). Her hair is cropped short but is curled on top – a style she achieves, she tells me, by twisting paper towels into long worms and using them as curlers.

Lady Jae came out in 1973, at the age of 12, and presents to any observer as a woman. Nevertheless, she’s categorized as a man by the California department of corrections and rehabilitation (CDCR). She’s just one of more than 300 transgender inmates in California prisons statewide (the national estimate for transgender inmates is about 700).

Lady Jae is also frank about her unusual position. When asked about her experience, her response is simple.

“How raw do you want it?’’

Those behind bars like Lady Jae must confront a hostile and violent system. According to a study by University of California Irvine professor Valerie Jenness, more than half of all transgender inmates experience rape.Prison culture also creates an atmosphere where transgender inmates may submit to sexual assault for protection from physical violence – all under the callous indifference of prison authorities.

Lady Jae describes the violence in Calipatria state prison during the 1990s, where she quickly landed in administrative segregation “mainly for fighting, not obeying orders, and refusing to stand during count”.

Lady Jae playing Macbeth. Photograph: The Kitchen Sisters

There, Lady Jae says that she participated in gladiator-style fights staged by correctional officers. Her fighting earned her a kind of respect. “It sounds really crazy, but deep down I was looking forward to the fight,” she writes in a letter. “I was the only transgender to my knowledge that had ever participated … I was part of the movement.”

In addition to rape, transgender inmates face the threat of death at the hands of other inmates.

Two years ago in California, a transgender woman named Carmen Guerrero was killed by her cellmate, Miguel Crespo, at Kern Valley state prison in California’s Central Valley. Crespo was in prison for a murder in LA County.

Guerrero’s previous cellmate, Jonathan Wilson, was her romantic partner. He said that he feared for her life following his transfer to another prison. On 28 October 2013, Wilson had been transferred to Salinas Valley state prison without much warning. “I fell for the kindness and sweetness in her heart,” he wrote in a letter. Over the phone, he later said that it didn’t matter to him that Guerrero was a transgender woman, and that he loved her and wanted to protect her.

He said that before he left, he tried to request for Guerrero to be placed in a cell with someone who would be “nice” to her, “but the CO didn’t want to”. After a day or two, he heard that Crespo had become her new cellmate.

According to Wilson, Crespo told the CO on duty that he would kill Guerrero if forced to bunk with her. On 1 November 2013, Crespo allegedly tied Carmen up, choked her to death, and informed the night CO that he had killed his cellmate.

Crespo was taken into custody, and the case is under investigation. The assistant district attorney prosecuting the case wouldn’t confirm whether Guerrero was female, but she did tell me that “everyone referred to [Carmen] as she” and that “by all appearance, [Carmen] presented as a woman”. The CDCR does not comment on pending litigation.

Prison Rape Elimination Act not a weapon

In an effort to protect transgender inmates, many prison authorities place them in solitary confinement, which the United Nations denounces as inhumane.

In 2012, the federal government implemented the Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA), which now requires all prisons to determine housing for transgender inmates on a case-by-case basis.

Lady Jae says the law is all well and good – except that it doesn’t take any effect until after the attack has already occurred. “It doesn’t protect you if you think it might happen,” she says. Granted, she also understands this approach because “people would be clamoring to change their rooming assignments all the time”.

Part of Lady Jae’s outreach in the prisons is to inform people about the regulations, and exactly what they encompass. “You have to be attacked,” she says. “Most people don’t understand that. PREA isn’t a weapon.”

Most states are moving slowly on implementation.

I'm not a victim. I would just as soon cut someone if they messed with me

Lady Jae

Jennifer Orthwein, an attorney at the Transgender Law Center, says that often, when transgender inmates report sexual assault, “prison staff dismiss their reports, [suggesting] the sexual contact was consensual. Assault is often perceived by staff to be the victim’s fault, just because they are transgender and therefore somehow brought it upon themselves.”

I asked Lady Jae about feeling harassed or intimidated. Danger could come from anywhere, she says, from guards or other inmates. But she isn’t afraid to stand up for herself.

“I’m not a victim,” she says. “I would just as soon cut someone if they messed with me.” She explained that once, a correctional officer had inappropriately brushed her breasts with the palm of his hand (they are only supposed to use the back of the hand), cupping them inappropriately. She told the guard to stop, and threatened to report him. He stopped.

Lady Jae understands that it’s not always easy for people to stand up for themselves. She credits her mother for helping her to feel confident. Her mother, she said, always told her to be whatever it was that she wanted to be. She never thought any differently.

Identity hangs in the balance

When the CDCR decided to house Sherri Masbruch, a transgender woman, in a women’s prison, both the media and advocacy groups were distressed. Masbruch was convicted of brutally raping a woman, and her presence at a women’s prison troubled many. No transgender woman has been moved to a women’s prison in California since.

Some jails, like Cook and LA County, have begun to house transgender inmates in special housing units, where they are safer and can gain access to counselling and medical treatment. However, on the whole, transgender inmates are automatically placed in situations that might be dangerous.

Valerie Jenness, a criminology professor at University of California Irvine who has worked extensively on the issue. Her study, based on interviews with more than 300 transgender women inmates, indicates that the majority prefer to be housed with men, despite the inherent risk for assault.

When I asked her about this surprising finding, she pointed out that, for many transgender people, affirmation of their sexual identity takes precedence over physical protection.

In one instance, she said, a transgender woman described a moment when a male inmate carried her lunch tray. This simple act of courtesy affirmed her experience as a woman. “Their identity hangs in the balance,” Jenness said.

For many transgender people, affirmation of their sexual identity takes precedence over physical protection

Valerie Jenness

Shawn Thomas Meerkamper, a legal fellow at the Transgender Law Center, agrees with Jenness that gender confirmation is a major factor in housing choice and speculates that some inmates may not even see women’s prisons as an option. Some also think that there may be anxieties about not being accepted by other women if they were in a women’s prison, whereas their gender is affirmed by male inmates.

For Lady Jae, romantic companionship became an important facet of her life – both to survive the violence and hostility of other inmates and to assert her femininity in a place that denied it. Soon after being processed, she met her first male cellmate. “I knew he was going to be my husband,” she recalls. The relationship was a source of comfort, and presented a welcome change to the violence around her.

A legal system out of touch?

The fight for transgender inmate rights has traditionally focused on medical treatment, namely the right to take hormones. In most jurisdictions, including California, regulations permit transgender inmates to receive prescribed hormone therapy. Courts have made it clear that such medication is necessary when accompanied by an official diagnosis. However, as the ACLU points out, individual prisons may not always provide treatment, and access to any medical treatment in prison can often be difficult.

More contentious is sex reassignment surgery, which, to date, has never been provided to any inmate.

Michelle Norsworthy, a California inmate, succeeded before the ninth circuit in her lawsuit for gender confirmation surgery, and a date was initially set for 9 July. In a powerful ruling, district judge Jon Tigar wrote that the court was “not persuaded that CDCR’s safety and security concerns override Norsworthy’s interest in receiving constitutionally adequate care”, and found that the CDCR’s expert’s report “overwhelmingly relies on generalizations […] contains illogical inferences; and admittedly includes references to a fabricated anecdote”.

A spokeswoman for the federal receiver in charge of health care argued that the surgery would cost nearly $100,000 and was “not medically necessary”. Orthwein, Norsworthy’s attorney, told me that this figure is simply incorrect. “The cost is closer to $15,000,” she says. Orthwein posited that the CDCR was given an overly inflated figure to defend its position against the surgery, an argument the courts did not buy.

The latest wrinkle in Norsworthy’s journey occurred last month – she was granted a parole hearing. If released on parole, the CDCR will not be responsible for her surgery although she would still qualify under Medi-Cal. The ninth circuit has stayed her case until later this August, she’s recommended for parole and awaiting a definitive outcome.

Another California inmate, Mia Rosati, has a case pending in which she also requests gender confirmation surgery. Rosati states that her gender dysphoria diagnosis has a negative impact on her mental health (she attempted self-castration) and that the CDCR must provide her with surgery under current law (the CDCR did not comment on either case because of pending litigation).

Until two years ago, the CDCR didn’t even recognize transgender inmates as such. Instead they were “effeminate homosexuals”, emphasizing their subservient role. This attitude reflects the once-prevailing idea that transgender inmates were faking it for the prison stay, rather than recognizing that transgender inmates sought their true identity both in and out of prison.

There’s hope, however, that conditions are slowly improving. For one thing, as Jenness emphasized, prison authorities are simply more aware. She gives the CDCR “great credit” for supporting her study and seeking information to improve their facilities and policies.

Orthwein cautiously agreed: “well-meaning people make the rules, but implementing them is a different beast.” She acknowledged that California is “slightly better” because the Bay Area tends to be more progressive in this realm. Thanks to Jenness’s findings, the CDCR instituted an official policy of employee training.

‘God does not make mistakes’

These days, Lady Jae speaks out for transgender women in San Quentin. She meets with youth and talks to them about prison and their troubles at home and school. She was the first transgender woman to play a female lead in San Quentin’s production of Macbeth. In her queen’s crown and draped in a decorated shawl, she looked the part.

If Lady Jae is found eligible for parole, she fears for her life outside of prison. But she also believes that she can present a positive role model for other people struggling with the same issues. “Through all the adversity I’ve been in my life, I held true to myself”, she said. “God does not make mistakes … Once you learn to love yourself, the issue will disappear.”

Correction, 4 August 2015 at 14:51: CDCR did not provide this estimate of the cost of sex reassignment surgery for inmate Norsworthy. A spokeswoman for the federal receiver in charge of health care did